


Tavish DeGroot was hungry for Haggis

by Dagnabbit, PugilisticSonofaGun



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dagnabbit/pseuds/Dagnabbit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PugilisticSonofaGun/pseuds/PugilisticSonofaGun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demoman has a craving for a classic Scottish dish, but will he ever obtain the mighty haggis? Stay tuned!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tavish DeGroot was hungry for Haggis

Tavish DeGroot was hungry for haggis. Sometime between trying to outdrink the Medic and Heavy, and trying to convince Pyro that his bombs weren’t toys (but nonetheless were), he got it into his head that not only was Scottish whiskey the best, so was the food. Drambuie cake, blood pudding, delicious spotted dick…these paled in comparison to his most favorite food, haggis.

However, he had never actually prepared it, and the only thing he knew about it was that it resembled a tiny boar rumored to live on the Scottish moors.  Its legs on the right side, front and back, were longer than the left side, so it could get around on the mountains better. He described the little animals to Scout, who looked a little doubtful about the existence of such a creature.

“Commahn, me boyo!” the drunk Scot shouted, grabbing Caden the Blu Scout by the arm. “We are goin’ tae hunt the Haggis! There’s bound tae be one here in the desert!”

“Ah jeeze!” Caden shouted, his eyes watering. The Scotsman’s breath was flammable and foul. “I don’t think haggisises live in New Mexico. We probably would only catch cactuseses!”

“Och! All we need tae do is to get the wee beastie on flat ground! He’ll only run in a circle then, and,” The Demo paused, grinning hugely and licking his lips, “We aet him! Aye, laddie, you will finally get some proper nutrition from a wee bit o’ haggis plate!”

Tavish grabbed Caden’s hand, and drug him outside, where they started towards the high desert hills. Caden was less than enthusiastic. They trundled along, the Scot staggering and Caden, out of a small feeling of responsibility for keeping Tavish in check, trotted along besides him.

“Tavish,” he whined. “There is no way we are gonna find anything to eat out here! Dell and Jane have cooking duty tonight, why don’t we go eat their food? It’s guaranteed to be delicious American cusi-…”

“Bah! That’s not what Aye wants!” Tavish scowled. “Tis Haggis all this Scotsman needs! Tis all Aye wants! And, Aye have a wee trap for the wee haggis beastie!” The Demo held out a small jaw trap.

Caden’s eyes widened in fear. “Holy crap! Is that even a real thing? How is that even legal? Or even humane?”

“We are going tae eat it, not buy it a breakfast tea, ya dolt!” The Scot shook his head and laughed. “Surely yae dindna think that meat grows in the markets!”

Tavish took the trap and walked up a sandy dune. “Tis a wee hill, but the highest me eye has seen so far! If a haggis were to be found, it would certainly be here on this knoll!”

Caden face palmed. This was going to be a long cold night in the desert waiting for a cactus to fall into that trap. Tavish finished setting the trap and stumbled back down the face of the sand dune. “All we have tae do is wait-“

SNAP! The two mercs jumped. The metallic snap of the jaw trap was punctuated by horrible screams and French curses. “WE DID IT LAD!!” Tavish jumped up immediately and ran back to the trap to recover his prize as Caden followed a little ways behind.

“Dude, uh, I don’t think haggiseses can speak — HOLY SHIT!!” Scout jumped back in horror as his friend lifted up the iron trap, its grasp firmly around Tristan the BLU spy’s left ankle. “DEMO GET HIM OUTTA THERE!!”

“Aye, ya hungry once ya laid eyes on ‘im, right me boyo? That’s the kindae appetite me wee mother Tilly liked tae see on my face! Let’s go!” And Tavish, drunk as all hell, grasped Tristan by the neck and drug the unfortunate Spy back to the base. Tristan’s eyes pleaded with the Scout to help, but the drunkard wouldn’t listen to either the pleas or the plaintive whimpers and muffled screams.

All the noise brought Dell and Jane out of the kitchen, where they were preparing the evening supper.

“What???” Dell asked, to no one in particular, as he tried to make out the scene in front of him.

Tavish and Caden were dragging a tumbleweed with little stick legs toward the base. Wait a tic. That wasn’t a tumbleweed…it was Tristan with a tumbleweed mask! Dell knew that Tristan liked to disguise himself as inanimate objects sometimes. He must’ve crossed paths with whatever the Demo was going on about.

When they finally came through the entrance to the kitchen with their ‘prize’ in tow, Dell spoke up. “What in Sam Hill you think you’re doing with that bear trap…?”

“Dell! My wee engineer laddie! Just the man Aye wanted tae see! Aye needs ya to cook me this Haggis!”Demo held up the poor Spy.

Tristan, silently pleading, tears running down his dirty face, grasped Dells collar and tugged. Dell grabbed the spy and pulled.

“Tavish! What are you going on about-“

Caden ran up to Dell, and whispered urgently into the Engineers ear. :A look of disgust and anger briefly flashed over Dells pleasant features, but he put on a kindly expression.

“Aw, hell. Demo, this is a wonderful catch! Iffin’ you just let go of him, now, and Jane and I will get him all cleaned up an ready for ya…”

Tristan started to whimper louder at this. Dell shook his head and shushed the Spy, continuing to placate the drunken Demoman. “Tavish, why dontcha have a seat at the table, and I think ya ought’ta sober up just a tad, so that you can enjoy this fine…uh… haggis. Uh, Jane?”

‘Yes, Engie?” The soldier stood ready, quietly observing the whole scene.

“Would ya mind getting Tavish here a nice hot cup of coffee?”

“Affirmative!” Jane rushed over to the coffee machine and started to messily measure out coffee grinds. “How would you like your joe, Private Demo?”

“I like me coffee like me women, HOT WHITE ‘N SWEET!!!” Tavish burst out, laughing obnoxiously and hammering the table with a fist.

Jane ran around the kitchen to look for creamer, and in the frantic searching he wound up opening the liquor cabinet and took a peek inside. Irish crème, eh? Well… cream’s cream, Jane shrugged as he pulled the bottle out and kicked the door closed. He struggled to open the bottle while walking back to the coffee percolator. He tried to twist off the cap, but it was glued shut with dried sugar. He bit down on the lid and tried again to twist it off, but no dice.

“JANE!!” Tavish shouted, laughing. “Aye needs me coffee, or bloody hell, Aye need my rum!”

“I’ve got it going!” Jane took the bottle, and smacked the lid on the counter. The lid and the neck of the bottle broke right off! Jane started haphazardly pouring the sweet sticky alcohol into DeGroot’s cup of “sobering” coffee.

Meanwhile, Dell led the poor Spy into the back kitchen. Tristan was panting and heaving from the pain caused by his broken ankle.

“Ok, Tris. I gotcha. What happened? How in the heck didya get yerself caught in a bear trap?”

Tristan huffed a couple more times, trying to calm his sobs. “I w-was just trying to practice my disguise technique... I was making new masks…” He held up the crumpled tumbleweed mask, now spotted with smears of dirt and blood. “I couldn’t control where zhe wind was blowing me, so I wound up in zhat maniac’s trap!”

“Oh Tris-. I’m sorry! Why don’t we have Medic fix ya up? He might poke it a few times to see how bad it is-“

“NON!” Tristan said, a little too quickly. Dell understood, he knew how the Medic frightened the poor Spy. “I-I mean, no zhank you, Engie. I think that medical pack will be sufficient enough for me to function.”

Dell gave the medipack to Tristan, who gratefully took it and healed his injuries. He brushed off his jacket, and looked back at Dell, who was smiling back at him. “Merci, I am so very grateful. I am also very sorry you had to see me like zhat.” Tristan began.

“Aw shucks, twernt’ nothin’” Dell said. He was glad his little spy friend wasn’t in pain anymore. But now, the Demo was becoming even more of a nuisance as his bellowing bled through the walls. It sounded like he was even more drunk than before. “AYE NEEF MOAR COFFEE!! EES NOT SEEMIN TAE BE WORKIN!!!!”

“Aw hell…” Dell muttered. He hurriedly poured two more cups of coffee, and said to Tristan. “Can you help get some heavy food ready? We need to sober up that Demo, or he might just, well, go ahead and eat you.”

“Oui! I’d love to cook! Anything to keep that imbecile at bay.” Tristan hurried to the broom closet at the far end of the kitchen, where he fished out a frilly, pink checkered apron and tied it to his body.

Jane stepped into the kitchen, seized the two cups of coffee, and walked back out to the table. He picked up the broken bottle of Irish crème and poured it into each cup, and finally, all of it had been used up.

“Demoman, that’s the last of the cream. I hope these cups do the trick,” Jane said.

“Hey, thhhaaankkks mate! Cheers!!” And the Scotsman tipped up the first cup, inhaled it, and belched loudly. “Och, ye cannae get a better cuppa! Aye wants yae to make me coffee every day, Solly!”

Jane scowled. “I am not a waitress,” he sniffed, and spun around in his boots and strode back to the kitchen with the broken empty bottle.

Tristan and Dell were dragging out the flour butter, sugar, hamburger meat, and pretty much anything they could get their hands on. “I’ll make some hamburgers, Tris.” Dell held up a box of noodles. “You wanna make some macaroni? Er…” Dell stopped talking, because Tristan had fixed him with a sardonic look that only Spies seemed to have the knack for.

“I will not,” he huffed, glaring at the box of instant prepackaged food. “I am not Italian, I am French, and we in France make food, REAL food. I intend to make pastries.”

“P-p-pastries? Uh…Okay then…” Dell took the box of cupcakes he had behind his back and tossed them out of sight, as to not offend the already much offended Spy.

As Jane came into the kitchen, Dell recognized the broken bottle. “Oh no. You didn’t…”

“What, Engie? I gave him the coffee, and even found a bottle of cream to put in it.” Jane explained, proud of himself for making a great cup of coffee per Demo’s standards, even though he still was not a waitress and was not going to make him anymore.

“Aw, Jane. It’s ok. It’s just that, that cream is Irish Crème. It’s alcohol. It ain’t gonna sober that drunk any faster, hell, it’ll probably push him into a coma. We need some food in him now!”

“Freedom fries, Engie! Let’s go!” Jane pulled out a sack of potatoes and started slicing. Dell heated up the oil, and together they fried 3 pounds of fries.

“Lookie here, Tristan! We made French fries! That’s fancy, huh?” Dell smiled, proud of himself. Tristan was not amused.

“Oh please. Those aren’t French at all! It iz a bastardization of the term, ‘french’!” he huffed, scowling hard at the plate of oily fires.

“Damn straight, Frenchie! Those are FREEDOM fries! They were made in America!” Jane growled. He slathered them with ketchup, and took the plate of steamy fresh freedom fries out to the drunk Scot.

Tristan watched Jane pack the plate of fried potatoes out the door,and pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘I don’t know why I even try to educate zhese Americans! Well, let’s get started, shall we?” And Tristan put an apron on Dell, which was even more pink and frilly than his own.

“Really, son?” Dell gave Tristan a withering look. The Spy ignored him, but was pleased that he ruffled the Engineer’s pride a little.

“Indeed! We are creating ART. We need to be centered and focused to make beautiful edible pastries!”

“I don’t know about how you do it in France, son, but we make fried pies here,” Dell took out apples, and started peeling and chopping.

“Oui, you fry everyzhing ‘ere. Zhis is precisely why your arteries are ‘ardening zhis very minute! Your blood iz as thick as butter!” Tristan took out the butter and started cutting it up into the flour. Dell looked at the hypocrite Spy using two cups of butter and sighed. Might as well let the Spy have his day in the kitchen.

The double doors swung open, and Caden walked in, holding a book of recipes.

“Hey guys! I found out what a haggisies is! It’s not a pig on a hillside with weird legs, it’s a sheep’s gut stuffed with grains and chopped organs, lips an’ assholes. That is flippin’ gross!” The Scout laughed hard at his own humor.

“I coulda told ya that, son,” Dell said, smiling. “But it’s not quite ‘lips and assholes’.”

“Well, it’s still flippin’ gross. But y’know, he was so excited about eating one. Is there any way we can make one for him?”

Dell scratched his head. “I don’t know about the casing, I haven’t seen any sheep out here,”

Jane strode in, having heard most of the conversation. “Medic has organs,”

“Oh god, no. Those are human organs.” Dell replied in abject horror.

“I got an old football? It’s made of pigskin. We could boil it and make a haggisy thingy?” the Scout offered.

“Son, you take that back. You will not desecrate an American football in my kitchen!” Jane shouted at Caden.

Tristan was inflamed. “Your kitchen? I am ze chef! Zhis is my kitchen!”

“Dell and I are on duty MAGGOT! This is American night! Get back to FRANCE!”

All the shouting and the name “Medic” drew the attention of the team doctor himself. He pushed open the kitchen door and asked, “Who called me? Has zhere been an accident?”

“We need organs!” Jane shouted.

“Lips and assholes too!” Scout shouted.

“Oh, goody! I have those in my surgery wing! Well most of those, anyway. Especially zhe organs!” Medic said, rubbing his hands together.

“God dangit, no! We are not using human organs in the kitchen. What the hell is wrong with all y’all?” Dell cried, exasperated.

“Vell, not all of zhem are human. Some of zhem are of ze simian variety,”

All the mercs in the kitchen shuddered, except the Medic, who had no idea what the hell the rest them were going on about.

Meanwhile, Heavy had joined the Demoman at the table. The drunk welcomed the company, and shared his fries with the Heavy. Heavy was a little tipsy from the vodka contest earlier, but was still in control of himself. He ate the fries delicately, and waited for the duty cook to notice that he was waiting.

Instead of Dell or Jane, Tristan came out of the kitchen. Heavy was pleasantly surprised. He was fond of the Spy’s gourmet cooking.

“Ah, Heavy. So good to see you tonight! We are ‘aving a soufflé, sautéed asparagus, fondue, and various pastries. Dell is…fixing somezhing ‘fried’.”

“Da, I will have some of all of it. Many thanks!” The Heavy beamed and nibbled a few more fries. Tristan looked down at the fries and inwardly winced. He would not have chosen to start off the dinner with that, but the Heavy was obviously gastronomically impaired tonight from the vodka.

Dell brought out the hamburgers next. Tristan hardly gave them a second glance as he passed him on the way back into the kitchen, but the Demo and the Heavy dug right in. That made Tristan stop and gape. His favorite gourmet was eating those Texan grease bombs!

The Engineer beamed in delight as the two heavy weapon mercs noisily ate. His hamburgers were a source of pride for him, there was nothing more satisfying in his opinion as one of his special hamburgers. He strode back to the kitchen, but when he passed the Spy, he remarked casually,”Heh, they like my burgers, whaddya know about that?”’

Tristan tuned out the chucking Americans. He had a menu of fantastic French food to create. He pulled the soufflé out of the oven and poured sauce all over it, and cut it into servings. The asparagus likewise was finished, and he took out the two plates and arranged the table settings while the Demo and Heavy started in on those dishes.

“Aye, this is truly lovely food, lad!” Demo said. Tristan was flattered.

“Oui, merci. I am glad you are enjoying-“Tristan started, but then Demo dipped his huge hand into the remaining soufflé and scooped it out onto his plate. Heavy guffawed at this, and Tristan was miffed. How rude!

“Aw, shucks, Spy. Don’t take it that way. These boys are just in the mood for finger food,” Dell said, chuckling. He had brought out corn on the cob and more fries. These were received just as nicely, and again Dell had the satisfaction of being told what a great cook he was.

“Hrrmph!” Tristan strode back to the kitchen. He started to whip up frosting for the tiny cakes he had made.

There was so much competition going on between the two chefs that Caden couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Sighing, he felt that his idea wasn’t worthy. As he trudged toward the door, he noticed the Medic looking just as confused about the kitchen squabbling. He pulled the Medic aside and started telling him what he wanted to do. Although Medic was German, he knew what a haggis was, and of course had the items that the Scout needed to try the recipe out. He and Caden walked back to the surgery wing, where the Medic’s office was and his own personal quarters.

In the kitchen, Dell had a huge pot of boiling oil, where he carefully lowered his little apple pies in to cook. The aroma of cinnamon drifted out the door, and Tavish and Heavy smiled when they smelled the heavenly scent.

On the other hand, the cinnamon and apple scent was bugging the hell out of Tristan. He couldn’t enjoy the delicate vanilla tones and chocolate fondant he was preparing for his petite cakes. To his surprise though, Nicholas the RED Sniper dropped into the base. Since he and Tristan had been seeing each other, on off-duty hours, he was a regular sight on the BLU base. The BLU team was a little more relaxed than RED.

“Ello, love,” the Sniper said, slipping an arm around Tristan’s middle. Tristan, surprised, drew in a sharp breath and almost dropped the frosting he was whipping. Nicholas gave him a peck on the cheek, and instantly the Spy relaxed a little. “What’s all this, then. You boys having a cookout?”

“Non! Zhat engineer and his ‘landmark’ are trying to out-chef me!” The irritated spy started whisking the frosting harder. Nicholas took note, and gave Tristan a squeeze.

“Relax, love. I’m goin’ ta chat with the boys,” Tristan gave him a small smile, continuing to work the mixing bowl. Nicholas strode out to the tables.

Heavy and Tavish were enjoying a good hearty laugh over a joke one of them told, and Nicholas smiled as he sat down with his friends.

“Nicholas me boy! What ya on aboot, laddie?” the Demo shouted. Nicholas barked out a laugh.

“I was just wonderin’ what in the hell was so funny, mate! I kin hear ya laughing clear across th’ valley!”

“Demo told joke. Much funny!” Heavy roared.

Nicholas grinned. “Oh yeh? Let’s hear it then?”

“I dunno now what Aye be telling anymore, seems like it was something about yer mum,” Tavish slurred. The RED sniper laughed anyway, the good spirit was still very palpable and he wanted to enjoy some fun. Soon, the little Engineer trotted back out with a heaping plate of fried pies.

Right behind him was Tristan, with a beautiful tray of fine cakes and pastries. “Oh, here we are then! Could I bother ya for a cuppa coffee, mate?” Nicholas asked Dell.

“Sure thing. I’m all out of cream, seems like Tavish here finished it off,” Dell said.

“Ah, no worries, mate! I never drink coffee with cream. Black is fine” Nicholas replied, giving the Texan a pat on the arm.

“Alrighty!” Dell rushed back to the kitchen, but paused to smile at the Spy. Tristan ignored the smug look on Dells’ face.

“Ah, I ‘ave brought ze finest of my own creations! Bon Appetite!” He set the tray down, but when he raised his eyes to look at the three mercs, they all had a fried pie in each hand.

“Oh no. NON! Zhis is an outrage! I work all of three ‘ours in ze kitchen, and you buffoons zhink zhat I will just sit back and let you eat those fried stomach bombs?”

“Bombs? Ka-BOOOOM! Demo shouted, laughing, as he threw the pie at the Spy. Tristan ducked. Huffing and puffing, he stormed angrily back into the kitchen.

“Mon Dieu! I ‘ave no idea why I try!” he cried, pulling open the drawers and walking up them like stairs, then curling up into a ball on the counter. He cried silently.

“Aw, shucks, Spah. I’m sorry. But ya know what? I like you frenchy fluffy froo-froo food. Heck, even Tavish liked it enough to eat most of it himself,” Dell said. “There, there,” He said, patting the spy on the back.

Suddenly an aroma of something indescribably delicious drifted into the room, accompanied by a loud crash as the door bust open, and Pyro, Medic, Caden and Jane stode in together holding a stainless steel tray between them. On the tray was what looked like a pot roast with stitches.

“Ah, is that what I think it is?” Dell asked.

“Yup! Me and Medic cooked it while you guys were playing kitchen nightmares!” Caden said. “I wanted to see if I could do it and I did!”

Medic gave the scout a scowl.

“Uh, I mean we. We did!”

“AND I HELPED!!!” Jane exclaimed, an overjoyed grin spread across his face.

“An’ Py helped cook it, too!” Caden patted his rubber clad friend on the shoulder, who in return giggled muffled and patted himself on the chest.

“RAUS! Let’s go feed zhat drunkard!” Medic proclaimed, and everyone filed out of the kitchen, leaving behind a very bewildered Spy and Engineer. Almost immediately afterward, elated cheering was heard from the Mess Hall, which compelled the two to see the reaction firsthand and peek out the doorway.

Demoman was happily carving the ‘haggis’ and passing chunks down the table as everyone partook in the accidental feast the two feuding chefs created. The scene was... actually kind of touching.. even down to the one RED playfully shoving the young BLU Scout and messing his hair. They looked at each other and shrugged as they took off their aprons and joined in, making plates for themselves and taking places at the table.

The haggis was a hit for everyone, the last few pieces were highly sought after, but were quickly claimed by the hungry Scot at the end of the table. The Engineer was surprised how the four pulled it off. “It was the first, but prolly the best haggis I think I’ve ever had.”

Spy looked down the table and beamed as well. “Oui, it was magnifique! What did ‘ou four use in it?”

Medic leaned back in his chair and took off his glasses to clean them on his lab coat. “Vell,” He cleared his throat, grabbing the attention of the eight other men around the table. “I used vhat I had available, or should I say… on hand.” Medic started to giggle, slowly getting louder and more manic.

Silent dread rung throughout the Mess as a mixture of disgust and fear was plastered on all but the Demo’s face, whom of which chose that time to let out a long, deep, hearty belch.

 


End file.
